The One where Yuuri is Clueless
by nerdlife4eva
Summary: The 2nd part of this series is an alternate Victor-becomes-Yuuri's-coach story. Sochi and all its drunken glory still occurred, but pining Victor has officially reached the end of Chris' nerves and Chris (being Chris) takes action. In a delightful team up of Phichit and Chris, Victor and Yuuri are thrown together at a celebrity paint-off event, where everything is adorable.


**This one is all fluff and humor, and besides the mention of being aroused and some very slight cursing, it come with absolutely no warnings. I hope you enjoy the second installment in the Paint Your Way to Me series! Please go give the absolutely incredible poot-draws on tumblr or pootdraws on Twitter some love on the art which inspired this and the other two fics in this series!**

* * *

Victor was dying. It wasn't his body that was becoming a decrepit mass. That part of him was in fine working order, letting him achieve every goal he had ever set for himself. He had made it through Sochi with another gold medal and stormed through Nationals with barely any effort, the gold discs already gathering dust on a shelf that he barely glanced at anymore. No, it wasn't Victor's body that was dying, it was his heart.

He had felt the disappearance of his drive to compete, ignoring it as he did with all negative emotions, convinced it was a passing phase and forcing himself to keep moving forward. Standing on the podium at the Grand Prix had felt lonely, isolating from his fellow competitors, leaving him with a hollow ache in his chest cavity. Victor had enjoyed his place at the top once, he was sure of it, although it was impossible for him to recall the feeling, even now as he padded through his apartment in socked feet.

The banquet after Sochi, however, had been an entirely different feeling. A very drunk, very adorable Yuuri Katsuki had wiggled into his life, half-naked and full of a glow that surrounded Victor, shaking him awake from his nightmare of the mundane. His world had exploded with life that night, and he had been searching for the return of that feeling since he found himself alone in his bed the morning after.

His heart was perishing now, in a whole other way, existing outside of his body, stolen by a dark-haired pole-dancing equivalent to the sun. Yuuri's spirit was so bright it had caused Victor to go blind, and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to return to his previous line of sight. Despite how drunk Yuuri had been, he had asked Victor to be his coach, he had haphazardly logged his phone number into Victor's phone and then unconsciously slumped into Celestino's arms. Victor had convinced himself that Yuuri hadn't given him the wrong number on purpose, stalking the man's measly Instagram account for any sign that he wanted Victor to find a way to call him. The fifteen pictures never grew in numbers and Victor was slowly going insane without answers.

With Makkachin at his heels, Victor paced his apartment, outlining all of this to Chris for the hundredth time, throwing in new theories as to why Yuuri hadn't contacted him. His best friend was being patient, but, if the increased humming was any indication, that patience was growing thin. Hearing Chris clear his throat over the line, Victor paused in his ranting to give the other man a chance to speak.

He listened intently as Chris suggested a vacation from St. Petersburg, an adventure to get his mind off of a certain agile fellow skater. He thought it was odd that Chris mentioned visiting the US, especially Detroit, but he decided to settle down at his laptop and book the tickets nonetheless. A thought tickled at the back of Victor's mind, telling him he was forgetting some detail, but he shoved it away in his excitement over the impending distraction. In three days, he would be meeting Chris in London and continuing onto their flight to the United States. The butterflies in his stomach should have served as a warning, except Victor was too busy checking Yuuri's Instagram for a thirtieth time that day to notice.

* * *

Yuuri stood in the middle of the ice, hands braced on his hips, scowl marking his flushed face. There was absolutely no point for him to be standing there, balanced on blades of failure and loss. It was like riding a horse, Celestino had told him, you have to get back on if you get bucked off. Yuuri had been bucked violently off by the proverbial skate horse and he was not in the mood to get back on in any way. Huffing, he ignored Celestino's complaints and threw himself off of the ice and onto the closest bench.

"Done?" Phichit's question had so many layers, and Yuuri sank his head in his hands and groaned instead of answering. "Well, I am done," Phichit chuckled, sinking down next to Yuuri on the bench. "Want to go eat? I want to talk to you about something anyway."

Black hair fluttered as Yuuri nodded his acceptance of Phichit's offer, ignoring Phichit's request to talk as it would only churn Yuuri's stomach further. Why did anyone ever vaguely speak about talking? Didn't anyone realize how much anxiety that would cause him? Shaking his head again, Yuuri dropped his own hands to his skates to loosen them, resolved to shake Phichit as soon as they were untied.

* * *

"It is for charity, Yuuri!" Phichit whined across the table, giving Yuuri a look that made them both laugh. "You don't have to talk to anyone, you sit on a stage and paint the picture of whichever partner they assign you. There's wine!"

Phichit was normally successful in convincing Yuuri to participate in all kinds of activities. They had hidden Easter eggs for sick kids at a children's hospital, given skating lessons to a group of inner city kids, and, in what was a failure of epic nature, participated in a bachelor auction. The last one Phichit was still trying to gain Yuuri's forgiveness for after he had spent four hours on a date with a very handsy newly divorced cougar-aged woman in leopard print tights. Memories made him shudder and Yuuri shook his head into his burger. There was no way he was going to sit in the middle of a room and paint a picture of a stranger while people watched to bid on his final product. It sounded bizarre and nerve-racking and not even free alcohol was going to dissuade his position.

Huffing, Phichit threw up his hands, declaring Yuuri difficult and further declaring that he was signing up with or without Yuuri. When Phichit pouted across the table at him Yuuri chuckled, offering to come cheer him on. Accepting the compromise, Phichit went back to silently devouring his food, flipping through apps on his phone.

* * *

The end of college was looming in front of him, right next to the looming undecided nature of his skating career. Yuuri could feel the storm rolling into his brain, and was trying everything possible to keep the crash at bay, at least until the other side of finals. After an uncomfortable conversation with Celestino, he agreed to give Yuuri a break from the ice while finals were occurring, insisting that Yuuri give it one more shot once the week had passed. He had committed to that promise, figuring he could always back out later. Thumping his head back on his bed, he felt the weight of his coach's disappointment and groaned into the empty room.

The door flung open, causing Yuuri to yelp as Phichit bounded into his room. "Do you know Chris Giacometti?" Phichit plopped down next to Yuuri on his bed, shoving Yuuri's books to the side.

Grunting as he sat up, yanking his shirt down over his forming belly, Yuuri considered the question. "I've competed against him, if that's what you mean." Yuuri reached over Phichit to gather his notes. Finals were in less than a week and if Yuuri intended on graduating this semester, he needed to pass them all.

He failed to notice Phichit's hasty move to cover his phone. "So," Phichit tried again, attempting to be subtle despite his frustration, "you've never hung out with him or anything? You aren't friends?" If he wasn't careful, Yuuri was going to start wondering why he was being questioned and Phichit couldn't have that. It was his job to determine what Yuuri remembered from the Sochi banquet, acting as an informant for the very man whom he was questioning Yuuri about. At the completion of this mission, Chris had promised him pictures and Phichit couldn't wait to see the evidence to back up of all Chris's stories. He knew the legendary antics of drunk Yuuri, and he was pretty confident about the entertaining content of the aforementioned photographs.

Sighing, Yuuri dropped his forehead into his hand, staring at his American history book. "I wouldn't say we are friends, P. I see him at competitions, he is fairly nice to me and I'm awkward as always. I doubt that constitutes friendship in anyone's eyes." Yuuri's eyes were focused on his task of highlighting his text, again missing Phichit's reactions to his statement.

Taking advantage of Yuuri's distracted state, Phichit slipped from the room without further questioning. Later, Yuuri would wonder why Phichit had inquired about Chris, but his anxiety would keep him from asking Phichit directly, a fact that made Phichit feel guilty for using it to his advantage. Clicking his phone open, he shot a text to Chris letting him know that Yuuri seemed completely clueless as to any event involving him at the banquet. The responding pictures had Phichit dying of laughter into his pillows, wondering what Yuuri would do when he finally recalled the details of the pictured night. The masochist in him couldn't wait for the paint off, and he was especially looking forward to meeting his co-conspirator face-to-face. Firing some flirty comments back, Phichit downloaded all the photos to his phone, snickering every time his thumb tapped a new one.

* * *

"Try that jump again!" Ciao Ciao was hounding Phichit on the ice and Yuuri was beginning to feel bad that he wasn't out there to distract his coach, even for a minute. Finishing lacing up his skates, he pushed up from the bench, regretting every detail of the deal he had made. Return to the ice after finals, skate until graduation, then if he wanted to give it up, Ciao Ciao would let him out of his contract. Yuuri hated how fair the deal sounded, begrudgingly agreeing to it with a handshake. His resolve to simply not show up had broken when Phichit reminded him that Celestino knew where they lived and would probably show up and demand answers. It was with great trepidation and Phichit's promise of pizza and beer afterwards that Yuuri appeared in the rink that day.

Letting his mind go blank, Yuuri let his body take over, not worrying about any routine in particular. There was no point in practicing in a rigorous manner as he had only promised to skate, making no promises as to the level of the ability he would skate to. Feet guiding him through the rink, Yuuri let his mind fade away spurred by the veil of his blurred vision and the comfort of the familiar music singing from his wireless headphones.

Everyone in the rink froze. Yuuri was mindlessly commandeering the ice, taking over the place without a single word being spoken. Younger skaters moved to the wall to give him room, Phichit racing to retrieve his phone, leaning on the edge of the yellow top stripe of the wall to steady his arms. Soundlessly, Yuuri Katsuki was skating Victor Nikiforov's gold medal routine, making it look as easy as walking to retrieve the Sunday paper. He was mesmerizing, even clad in plain black and blue training clothes instead of an elaborate costume. The group took a simultaneous breath as Yuuri jumped a quad, landing it as if he had been making the jump his entire career. Phichit recorded ever second of the routine, waiting until the final pose to upload it immediately to YouTube. As soon as the link was live, he copied it and sent it to his favorite Swiss partner in crime.

Yuuri startled and fell on his butt when he realized everyone was staring at him. Clearing his throat, he waved awkwardly from his seat in the middle of the ice, scrambling to his feet to race for the benches.

Phichit watched his best friend run away from the ice, full of talent and beauty that Yuuri wouldn't allow himself to see. Somehow, he needed to keep Yuuri skating, and although Chris's plans were motivated for different reasons, Phichit hoped that Yuuri's will to skate would be a happy side effect. He loved his best friend way too much to watch him give up now. Setting his blades back on the ice, he analyzed the ways that he could convince Yuuri to change his mind about participating in the paint off. Looking at his red-faced best friend, sitting in a sagging blob on the rink bench, and then studying the hard lines of his coach's face, Phichit made an impulsive decision as to exactly how he could help Yuuri. Sighing, he planted a determined look on his face and promptly threw himself into a wall.

* * *

Victor had watched the video 147 times by the time he connected with Chris at the London airport. It had been Chris who had forwarded him the link, his best friend being exceptionally cagey as to how he had discovered it in the first place. Within a day the video had gone viral, but Yuuri's Instagram still didn't change, making Victor wonder about the repetitive nature of slowly driving himself insane. He had told himself during the entire first part of his plane ride that it would be good to get away for a bit, enjoy some time away from St. Petersburg now that the off season was officially upon them.

Approaching his bestie, Chris smirked seeing Victor hunched over his phone, the horizontal angle of it giving Chris a pretty good idea of what Victor was watching. Plunking down in the hard plastic, Chris slipped Victor's favorite coffee into his field of vision, glancing at the phone to confirm his suspicions. Yuuri Katsuki's extremely nimble body floated silently over the ice, a reflection of all the ways Chris knew Yuuri's body could move. He had fond memories of the Sochi banquet and he planned to remind Yuuri of them as soon as they reached Detroit. Victor had dibs on the adorable man, but that didn't mean that Chris couldn't have his fun teasing Yuuri about his amazing pole dancing skills. Fidgeting in excitement, Chris tapped a finger against Victor's phone, "how many times have you watched this?" He didn't mean to sound condescending, even though it came out far more critical than he intended.

"I'm sure I am the sole reason this video has gone viral," Victor murmured in a lust-filled haze, resting his head on Chris's shoulder. He was lucky to have a best friend that tolerated his need for small touches. "He is so beautiful, Chris," Victor sighed heavily, placing his hand over his heart, "how can one man be so beautiful? It is unfair!"

Chuckling, Chris shifted to put his arm around Victor, accepting Victor's head against his shoulder. "I agree," he watched the movie again with interest, although he had seen the video quite a few times himself, "he is beautiful. How did he not place higher in Sochi?!" It seemed like one of life's great mysteries: the Yuuri who appeared in Sochi versus the Yuuri dancing across Victor's screen now being one in the same person.

"I wish I could ask him that," Victor sighed again, clutching his chest, "do you think this is a sign, Chris? Do you think he is reaching out to me?"

Chris shrugged in a noncommittal move, dragging Victor to his feet as their boarding section was called. One way or another, his pining best friend was going to get some answers this weekend and Chris would be there to support him no matter which way those answers fell.

* * *

"I cannot believe you sprained your whole arm!" Yuuri stood outside of the training room staring at Phichit's arm now secured in a bright orange sling. "Ciao Ciao is going to lose it!" Part of Yuuri was a little jealous of Phichit, as his friend would get to abstain from skating while his injury healed. For a brief moment, he let his gaze wander to the wall, contemplating how hard he would have to hit it to achieve the same result.

Phichit followed his gaze, grabbing Yuuri's arm and dragging him toward the exit. "No way, Katsuki," Phichit gave him a knowing look when Yuuri tried to appear innocent, "you can't hurt yourself. This is my dominant arm and tomorrow is the paint off." He wasn't looking at Yuuri so he couldn't be sure what facial expression he was making, but Phichit was sure it was somewhere between a speechless mime and an outraged bear.

"Don't ask," Yuuri warned, still being dragged by Phichit toward the pizza place, heels now digging harder into the ground. He knew Phichit was going to ask him to step in. He knew Phichit was going to ask him to step in, and then give him all of the very solid reasons why he should. Even worse, he knew all of that and knew that if Phichit asked, Yuuri would say yes. His only hope would be to convince his best friend not to ask in the first place.

Shoving Yuuri into a red cushioned booth, Phichit carefully slid into the other side. "I have to ask," he flicked open the menu, scanning it instead of looking at Yuuri, "it is for the children's hospital, Yuuri. You love volunteering there." Identifying what he wanted, Phichit paused to give the waitress his order and let Yuuri do the same. "Some of the kids will be there and it is really good money for them. Please, Yuuri, you have to take my spot!" He finished the request with a slight whine and a very convincing pout.

Yuuri snatched a bread stick from the basket, crunching it as he glared at Phichit across the table. If he didn't know better, he would be ready to accuse Phichit of injuring himself on purpose. He did know better though, because Phichit planned to make a strong run at the Grand Prix Final series and he would never jeopardize losing time on the ice just to see Yuuri panic in public. Surveying the orange sling, and Phichit's slight wince as he adjusted it over his shoulder, Yuuri took pity on him. Heaving an exasperated sigh, Yuuri agreed to take Phichit's place and they spent the rest of the meal trying to predict what other celebrities would be participating.

The one celebrity neither of them mentioned was Victor Nikiforov, ironic since he was the only one Phichit knew for sure would be entering.

* * *

Friday had come and gone with a flurry of exploration, Chris and Victor covering whatever touristy things they could find in Detroit. They had completed an activity called a river walk, toured the local arts museum and even walked around on the nearby college campus. Together they had covered so much ground that Victor felt as if he already knew the city inside and out, and he was starting to crave a new experience. As Chris returned to the main room from the shower, he leaned over Victor's shoulder to examine all of the open search tabs. "What's this?" Chris inquired, clicking through a few of the options.

"I'm trying to decide what we should do tomorrow," Victor drummed his fingers on his leg, sitting back slightly to ponder their options. "There are a few places that are only an hour or so outside of the city that show promise. We could rent a car and expand our vacation area a bit." Victor idly ran a hand through his hair while speaking, using the other hand to click through more tabs.

"No can do, vän," Chris moved to his suitcase, pulling out a well-hidden blue folder and tossing it next to Victor on the bed, "you already have an activity scheduled for tomorrow." He slipped into a pair of soft sweats and tossed himself across his own bed, waiting for Victor to react.

Lifting the folder with two fingers, Victor flipped it open, examining each item in the two pockets. It seemed that Chris had signed him up to participate in a celebrity competition of some sort, something to do with painting. Upon further review, it looked like he would be paired with another celebrity and they would paint each other's portraits which would then be auctioned off for charity. Even though Victor was no slouch in the painting department, he could feel uncertainty building in his mind. He glanced at his partner's name, vaguely recalling the surname even though he couldn't quite connect it with a face. Shifting his scrutiny to Chris, Victor raised the folder in his direction. "Why would you sign me up for this? We are on vacation!" He wasn't exactly mad, although he should have been, but Victor needed an explanation nonetheless.

"You used to love to paint," Chris shrugged, throwing his arm over his eyes, "I thought it might help you relax. Plus…" Chris almost spilled the secret, holding back solely to keep Phichit from murdering him, "it benefits the children's hospital here in Detroit." It was cruel to mention the kids, because Chris knew that Victor would do anything to help a child in need. He saw the concession in Victor's face before his friend vocalized it, proud of himself for the victory. "Besides, you'll probably have fun. You get to paint some poor schmuck and he or she will paint you and then people bid on it and there is a party afterwards. I think you'll get a kick out of it." Victor had no idea how much of a kick he would get, and Chris for his own entertainment reasons left out the most appealing detail, relaxing back into his pillows to sleep before Victor could argue any further.

* * *

The banquet hall was filled with tables to either side, organized with eight chairs to each table, gold numbers indicating where people should sit. Each table was covered in a navy blue cloth with gold plates and silverware placed around centerpieces of light blue flowers. It almost appeared as an unfortunately colored wedding reception, Yuuri noting the reflection of the colors in the hospital's large crest which hung over the podium at the opposite end. Near the entrance door that he walked through with Phichit at his side, there were long tables with empty chaffing dishes. Yuuri assumed that eventually those dishes would be filled with food, stomach growling as he followed Phichit toward a sign-in table. He hadn't been able to eat due to nerves and he was hopeful food would be served sooner than later.

Registration took a shorter amount of time than Yuuri had anticipated, mostly due to Phichit's extensive phone conversation with the organizer to switch his spot over to Yuuri's. According to Phichit, the hospital had been thrilled to make the switch, claiming that Yuuri's popularity would surely bring in high bids, even though the official packets had already been mailed out. Yuuri really wanted their definition of the word popular, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt as Phichit shoved him further into the room. On top of taking Phichit's place for the day, Phichit had also insisted on dressing him, a fact Yuuri was regretting more and more with every passing second.

Approaching the painting area, Yuuri felt the nerves begin to vibrate in his stomach. Gold and navy ropes were hooked between heavy poles, blocking off a large area in the middle of the room which was elevated on a slight platform. Within the circle of the platform, there were easels faced back-to-back in a long line. Each twosome was separated by tables full of paints and brushes, and smaller tables full of wine and snacks. Yuuri noted three types of wine at each grouping, and plates of cheese, crackers, and fruit. He didn't know how much alcohol he would consume, his memories of his alcohol-induced antics were fuzzy but existent enough to tell him not to let himself cross that line. He rolled his eyes as Phichit dramatically waved him goodbye, turning Yuuri over to the small woman in very sharp heels who led him to his designated easel. His partner's easel bore no name, so he had no idea who he would be paired with. As long as it wasn't a housewives "actor" or a politician, Yuuri figured he could keep his head down and paint, without being too offended by his partner for the day.

Victor stood a few feet into the door, surveying the painfully colored room. He heard Chris call to someone over his shoulder, spinning to see a small man in a neon orange sling. Wondering how on earth Chris knew anyone at this event, Victor stepped aside quietly to stand in line at the registration table. Repeatedly, he thought that whoever dreamt up the color scheme in the place should be ashamed of themselves, the varying gold colors and inconsistent blue hues were making his head hurt. Leaning over the table to complete the last of his paperwork, Victor half-listened to the chatter between Chris and his mystery friend, catching their discussion about the upcoming skating season. Reasoning that the other man must also be a skater, Victor stood to introduce himself. Taking a closer look, there was something familiar about Chris's friend, but Victor couldn't quite place it.

"This is Victor," Chris said, throwing an arm his way as Victor put his hand out to shake the one offered by the skater he didn't know. "Vic, this is Phichit, he trains here in Detroit." There was a smirk playing at Chris's lips and Victor felt apprehension seize his heart.

"Nice to meet you, Victor! I really admire your skating!" Releasing Victor's hand, Phichit glanced around the room, "my roommate and rink mate is participating today too. Perhaps you know him?" Phichit waved a casual arm toward Yuuri, who was hunched over his easel examining his paints.

Victor's heart stopped. It stopped and then it promptly fell out of his body, rolling across the floor and landing at the feet of the man he had been desperately trying to find for months. Stammering, he focused on Chris, finally registering the cocky tip of his best friend's head. "You knew!" Victor was flabbergasted, "did you set me up?" He shot looks between both of the men as they snickered into their hands.

Chris was absolutely thrilled as to how this was playing out. "Yeah, I signed you up when I saw Phichit's name on the list, and then we figured out a way to get Yuuri to take his place."

"I threw myself into a wall," Phichit stated proudly, flapping his sling-trapped arm, "and then I gave the trainer fifty bucks to put me in this sling and say I have to wear it until next week." It was a devious plan, but it had been so worth it. Even Celestino had gone along with it, his ulterior motive focused on returning Yuuri to the ice.

"Get in there, champ," Chris shoved Victor's shoulder, reaching out to catch him when Victor lost his balance and stumbled into the heavy ropes. The commotion brought Yuuri's head up, his eyes immediately zeroing in on their group of three, pink racing over his cheeks and into his hair line.

 _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ , Yuuri chanted in his head. _What on earth was Victor Nikiforov doing here? Why was he in Detroit? He couldn't be…_ the last thought disappeared in a cloud of smoke as Victor was ushered to the easel propped against the back of Yuuri's. He knew he must have been imagining the blush on Victor's cheeks, Yuuri's awkwardness causing him to wave too close to his face and smack his own temple. Rubbing the spot of impact, he squawked when long arms were thrown around his shoulder.

"Yuuri!" Victor was so excited to see his long-lost dance partner that he failed to give Yuuri a chance to refuse the hug. Kissing the blushing cheek, Victor released him to hold Yuuri at arm's length. "I guess we are painting off against each other! I prefer you as a partner, but no matter, I can't wait to see how you paint me." Yuuri's eyes weren't meeting his and Victor became worried. Maybe he had misread Yuuri's intentions at the banquet, maybe he really didn't want Victor to find him. Releasing Yuuri's shoulders as if they had caught fire, Victor moved through his own embarrassment to sit on his assigned stool, staring hard into his canvas trying to decide his next move.

Blinking, Yuuri glanced around the room, locating Phichit with his arm wrapped over Chris's shoulder, both men laughing to the point of tears. He was once again doubting the validity of his best friend's injury, watching as Phichit easily swung the arm to slap Chris on the chest. If they had planned this whole thing as a way to embarrass Yuuri into an earlier grave, he was going to strangle them both. One thing was for sure, though. During their first break, Yuuri was going to, at the very least, kill Phichit.

Their attention was snapped from their individual panic attacks when someone cleared her throat into a microphone. "Painters!" The woman who had guided them to their seats stood at the podium prepared to give them further instructions. "Your pictures are being handed out, you will open the envelope when I give you the command." Yuuri peeked over the top of his easel to spy a young man coming down the line of easels with marked envelopes. "You will have one hour to sketch if you so desire. At the end of the hour, the doors will open to the benefactors and you will begin painting. You will have three hours to complete the painting portion and then all works will be collected to be prepped for auction. You will each be required to present the painting of your likeness, not the painting you have completed. If at any time during the event you need more wine or food, please let one of the attendants know. We appreciate your best efforts to help us raise funds for the renovation of the pediatric oncology unit. Good luck and have fun!"

Victor studied Yuuri's face over his easel as Yuuri looked anywhere but at him. He had seen the way Yuuri reacted to the information about the oncology unit renovations and was itching to ask him if he knew of the place. There were so many questions bubbling inside of Victor, he felt as if he could float away on them. A hand on his shoulder had him jumping, looking up to see a college-aged young man passing him an envelope, repeating the gesture across the top of the easel to Yuuri. Slipping his finger into the seal, Victor's breath caught in his throat. Smiling back at him was an absolutely stunning Yuuri Katsuki. He remembered every detail of that picture from when it had occurred in Victor's real life, and his instant reaction was enough to have him crossing his legs. Glancing up, he saw Yuuri mimicking his movements, his cheeks as red as they were in the picture Victor was holding.

It was possible that the legendary Phichit Chulanont, hero of Thailand and Yuuri's best friend, was also the reincarnation of the devil himself. Dangling from Yuuri's shaking hand was a picture of Victor, almost completely nude, modeling a bowl of what appeared to be katsudon. How Victor would even know what katsudon was, and why the hell he would be posing with it was beyond Yuuri, but the picture was there, shiny and real in Yuuri's grasp. And he had to paint it. Yelping in panic, he dropped the photo, springing from his seat and colliding with Victor as he tried to retrieve it at the same time. Yanking the picture on the floor to his chest, Yuuri's eyes blew wide when he realized that he was standing almost flush to Victor's chest. Scrambling back to his seat, Yuuri hurriedly attached the picture to its clip, grabbing a pencil and taking a few deep breaths.

"Yuuri?" Victor slowly attached his own picture to the clip on the side of his easel, trying to decide how to ask the most pressing question in his mind.

Startling, he dropped his pencil, thankful when Victor did not attempt to bend to retrieve it. Willing himself to stay calm, Yuuri shoved his hair back from his forehead and forced himself to meet Victor's eyes. "Yes?"

"Did you send in your own photo?" He blurted it out, realizing that he, Victor Nikiforov, had failed to be the smooth bachelor everyone assumed he was, exchanging that façade for his current awkwardness.

Yuuri blushed and shook his head. "I'm not even supposed to be here, Phichit got injured so I had to jump in. My picture might not even be here." He shrugged his shoulders a few times, returning to the beginnings of his sketch, starting with the bowl of katsudon because it seemed to be the safest bet.

Victor stared at the pinned picture at the top of his canvas. A messy mop of black hair, held in various directions by a horrific but recognizable blue tie, was the cherry on top of the Yuuri sundae. In the picture, Yuuri's shoulders were bare, a white dress shirt gathered in a pool around his hips as he glanced back at the camera with a devious smile. If Yuuri hadn't sent this picture in, then who…

It clicked halfway through his thought causing Victor to search the crowd for his best friend. Locating him, he pointed at the picture on his canvas, mouthing _oh my gosh_ , while frantically tilting his head toward Yuuri. Standing only as tall as Chris's shoulder, was the man that Victor had vaguely recognized. When they made eye contact, the other man waved, pointing a finger at Yuuri and then giving Victor the thumbs up. The infamous Phichit Chulanont, epic selfie taker and the most talented skater to ever come out of Thailand, and rink mate and best friend of beautiful Yuuri Katsuki, and now Victor's personal hero. Victor took a deep breath, lifting his own pencil to begin sketching the man he was madly in love with, wondering how much he needed to thank both of his joyous spectators for the image that he would now need to paint. Mind whirling, Victor decided to ask the woman in charge if there was anything preventing him from buying his own work.

* * *

An hour passed quickly with most of the celebrities turned artists concentrating on their canvases leaving the platform almost completely silent. Yuuri, as an act of self-preservation, had put his headphones in his ears to help him focus. The tip of Victor's tongue was caught between his teeth and he was making little noises as he worked, driving Yuuri's mind further away from his own easel and to thoughts that were not to be had in polite company. It took all of the control he possessed to keep himself sketching, letting the music flow through him as he brought the picture of Victor to life. The image was even more intimidating on the large white canvas and Yuuri was positive he was going to die before he was able to complete it.

Yuuri's humming was making him insane, Victor wishing he had thought to bring his own headphones. It wasn't an unpleasant sound, in fact, it was the exact opposite, causing Victor's body to react in little tingles. He had nearly had a heart attack when he heard the bars of _Stammi Vicino_ escaping the perfect lips of his easel partner. Yuuri's brown eyes were intensely deep as he worked over his own canvas and Victor had found himself fighting the urge to toss the easels to the ground and tackle Yuuri in their wake. But Yuuri hadn't seem to enjoy his initial affections, and he had practically left streaks as he skidded away from Victor the second time. His confused mind let the images of the banquet flow back in, leaving him longingly peering at Yuuri over the top of his easel.

He felt the eyes on him, steadying himself so he wouldn't stiffen. Looking up, he locked onto the blue eyes, feeling the hint of something familiar tickling the back of his mind. They stayed, intensely hooked into the varying degrees of emotion passing between them until break was called, startling both of them. Yuuri fled from his stool, running full force toward Phichit, snagging his best friend and throwing him into the hallway. "What the hell, P?" Yuuri yelled at his friend, not appreciating the hysterical laughter that was preventing Yuuri from getting answers.

"Oh come on, Yuuri," Phichit tempered his amusement, covering his mouth with his free hand, "he seemed really happy to see you!" Phichit watched as Yuuri paced the hallway, waving Chris away over his friend's shoulder. Once Chris had lead a dejected looking Victor in the other direction, Phichit yanked Yuuri down onto a bench.

"WHY?" Yuuri yelled, throwing his hands in the air. "Why would he hug me, Phichit?! He is my idol but I have never even talked to the man!" Yuuri thumped his head back against the wall hard enough to hurt.

Phichit stilled. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he unlocked it. "Yuuri Katsuki, my friend, how drunk were you in Sochi?" He opened the file with Chris's shared pictures in it, holding his phone upside down for the time being.

"When?" Yuuri furrowed his brow. He wouldn't have drank at all before or during the competition, so Phichit couldn't be talking about drinking actually in Sochi. And then it hit him. The banquet.

The banquet had been a bad night. He felt isolated from the other skaters, assaulted from Yurio's attack on him in the bathroom, and generally depressed about his lack of ability. Celestino had left him alone, giving up on encouraging Yuuri to interact with his colleagues to join the other coaches at the bar. That's when he had discovered the champagne. The table had been unattended, glasses lined up and free for the taking. And he had taken a lot of them. Closing his eyes, Yuuri tried to will the memories back to him, coming up with fuzzy pictures that wouldn't clear. "What did I do, Phichit?" The question was a barely audible whisper, terrified of the answer.

Flipping his phone over, Phichit slid it into Yuuri's hand. "Funny you should ask," Phichit's tone was a mixture of apprehension and humor, waiting patiently for Yuuri to process what he was seeing.

His stomach curled as he flipped through the images, watching his body become more and more naked with each one. Dread filled him, realizing that Phichit was not at the Sochi banquet. These pictures came from someone, and his guess was it was the Swiss skater who had thrown winks at him the entire first hour in the banquet hall. Bringing the pole dancing pictures up, Yuuri swallowed the bile in his throat. No wonder Chris felt comfortable attempting to flirt with him from a distance, apparently Yuuri had rubbed his mostly nude body all over the other man. Drunk Yuuri was a bastard.

Phichit reached over Yuuri's wrist to flick to the next picture, one of him dipping Victor low toward the ground. He chuckled when Yuuri groaned next to him. "Look at his face, Yuuri," Phichit prodded with his words and his elbow.

No wonder Victor had hugged him, apparently drunk Yuuri had spent time rubbing himself all over his idol as well. Following Phichit's command, Yuuri looked at the picture, eyes widening as Phichit zoomed in to highlight their faces. It was no surprise that Yuuri was smiling, he had his lifelong idol wrapped in his arms, but Victor's smile was something else. Bright, relaxed, highlighted by pinked cheeks and fingers splayed delicately but possessively over Yuuri's cheek. Something inside of him stirred, butterflies sneaking from their cocoons in his stomach to take flight making him feel shaky.

"He is here because he likes you, Yuuri," Phichit watched the side of his friend's face, "Chris contacted me because he brought Victor to Detroit to find you. Apparently you gave him the wrong number that night and he has been trying to find a way to contact you since then." The phone in Yuuri's hand clattered to the ground. "So, what are you going to do about it?" Phichit retrieved his phone, standing to pull Yuuri up by the hand, "actually, better yet, I _dare_ you to do something about it." Smiling as the competitive heat rose in Yuuri's irises, Phichit grabbed his arm and shoved him back into the banquet hall.

* * *

"He hates me," Victor whined, leaning against the wall in the men's room, uncaring about anyone who might hear his desperate musings. All he wanted was to declare his love for Yuuri Katsuki at the top of his lungs. Seemingly all Yuuri wanted to do was avoid eye contact and run away from him.

Chris took sympathy on his best friend, pulling him from the wall and back out into the hallway. "Give him time, he didn't know you would be here, and the picture I submitted of you is pretty risqué. Let him catch up, and then see how things go," he pushed Victor's sagging shoulders down the hall and back to the banquet room. "And when in doubt, start drinking! It worked last time," Chris playfully winked at him, giving Victor a final push back toward his spot.

Groaning back at his friend, Victor turned to see Yuuri already sitting in his place. Gaze connecting again, Victor stepped on his own foot when Yuuri winked at him. Stumbling back to his stool, he noticed the hair pushed back from Yuuri's forehead and the determined look taking the place of the once hesitant glimmer in Yuuri's eyes. Nerves growing inside of him, Victor blindly reached out to seize a bottle of wine. "Drink?" he squeaked, unable to stop himself from shaking slightly under the intense hold of Yuuri's stare.

"Pour me sixteen," Yuuri winked again, tipping his own glass, determined to keep his anxieties away and explore the attraction that Phichit promised was mutual. Maybe the confidence was being faked. Maybe it was spurred on by the two glasses of wine he had downed before Victor returned. Either way, Yuuri was going to prove to himself he could do this, the victor in the competition between himself and his shyness. If it was up to him, it was going to be a very interesting afternoon.

* * *

His vision was only slightly impaired as the end of the second bottle of wine disappeared into Victor's glass. Yuuri had decided that eating would be a wise choice, carefully choosing a fifth strawberry and then enjoying it bite by bite. At some point he had realized that Victor was watching him, doing his best to stay calm and not choke, while deliberately slowing the process down. Whether it was the alcohol or Yuuri's actions, there was no denying the red hue to Victor's perfect cheeks now. A flicker of flame licked at Yuuri's heart, vague memories beginning to edge toward his consciousness of perfectly fit bodies moving over a dance floor. He wished he could remember exactly what had happened at the banquet, but he also had decided almost an hour ago that it mattered more that Victor remembered. Victor remembered and had thrown himself on Yuuri in the first second they were near each other. That had to mean something, Yuuri was sure of it.

There was an ever-growing list in Victor's mind of people who he wanted to thank after this event. Concurrent to that list, Victor was also making a list of people he wanted to punch. The person who decided that arming Yuuri Katsuki with plump red strawberries was currently sitting on the border between the two, Victor simultaneously witnessing the most erotic consumption of strawberries he had ever seen and experiencing the most excruciating case of blue balls that had ever been documented. Positioning his eyes on his painting, Victor cracked his neck, desperate for an ounce of reprieve from the intense desire taking over his lower half.

"Mr. Yuuri!" A tiny voice squealed from behind the rope, causing Yuuri to twist in his seat. Spying a familiar bald head, adorned with an outrageously oversized pink bow, Yuuri hopped down, rushing to hold up the rope and capture the girl in his arms. "Mr. Yuuri! I'm so happy you are here! I saw Mr. Phichit," leaning closer to Yuuri's face, the little girl cupped his ear in her hands, "I think he is lying about his arm." She giggled with her hands covering her face, nose wrinkling with the excitement over her secret.

Lifting her gently onto his hip, Yuuri waved to her mom as he carried her over to his easel. "I think you are right," he said, tickling her cheek with his nose, "want to meet my friend?" Yuuri angled his head toward Victor who waved. The heart shaped smile lighting up Victor's face was almost too much for Yuuri to handle and he found himself clearing his throat. "This is Victor. He is a skater like me. Victor, this is Rosaline, she is going to be a skater one day too." He sat her down on his stool, realizing too late that she was directly in front of his painting.

"Um, are you naked in this?" Rosaline, who despite being small was approaching 11, lifted a skeptical eyebrow at Victor.

He choked on his wine. Trying to recover, Victor ran a hand through his hair, smiling down at the inquisitive face. "I don't know, Ms. Rosaline. He won't let me see it." Victor winked at Yuuri who chuckled.

"Trust me, you're naked," she said matter-of-factly, removing herself from the stool. "I get to stay out of the hospital for a whole month!" Her attention was once again focused on Yuuri, lightly tugging on his sleeve, "you will take me to the rink, right? If mom says it is okay?"

Yuuri's heart hurt, looking at the girl who was too small for her age and was still braver than he would ever be. He might hate the ice right now, but he refused to disappoint his hero in child form. Picking her up again, he twirled her around, "I will definitely take you to the rink, BUT," he dipped her, careful to support her fragile body, "you owe me a dance later." Yuuri set Rosaline down on the other side of the ropes next to her mother, bending to let her kiss his cheek.

Giggling, Rosaline peeked at her mom, "deal Mr. Yuuri!" Turning her bright eyes upward, Rosaline batted her eyelashes at her mom, "Mr. Yuuri said I could go to the rink if you say it is okay."

He shrugged sheepishly at Rosaline's mom. He knew she was in a delicate state, but he also didn't want to be a source of denial for her. He had experienced too much denial and disappointment in his life, and Yuuri wasn't about to cause those emotions in someone else. When Rosaline's mother agreed to the adventure, Yuuri stayed at the ropes to provide the address and set a time for the next day. The bell dinging at the podium warned him that there was an hour of painting time left, and he said his quick goodbyes to return to his almost finished painting.

The morning after Sochi, Victor had been convinced that Yuuri was the love of his life. Throughout the weeks that had followed their night of drunken dancing, Victor had built that love up in his mind, creating a fairy tale to cope with all the unresolved feelings inside of him. When he had seen Yuuri for the first time since that faithful night, just three hours prior and under the harsh light of the banquet hall, Victor had felt the rush of instant affection. As Yuuri became comfortable and flirting words had flowed between them, Victor had felt his body reacting in a physical way. Now, as he witnessed the care that Yuuri had used with Rosaline, he was absolutely, without a doubt, positive that he no longer had a heart to give away. It belonged to the dark-haired blushing man that was apparently painting Victor's nude portrait, and Victor wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

All of the painters stood to one side of the podium grouped together like herded sheep. Particularly close were the figures of Yuuri and Victor, with Victor's arm thrown over Yuuri's shoulders and Yuuri's arm casually draped around Victor's waist. It was both functional and pleasant, both of them desiring to touch each other, while also needing the support after drinking all three of their bottles of wine. Yuuri had noticed that almost none of the other pairs had even cracked a bottle and he was convinced that the other painters had done everything wrong. Resting his head on Victor's shoulder, he was glad that he had stopped drinking thirty minutes prior, able to keep a semi-clear head and hopefully remember whatever else the night had to offer.

For the first time, Victor noticed the other celebrities mixed into their group, noting the presence of several other athletes, one author, and a handful of actors and actresses whom he could place if he really felt like it. At the present time, he only wanted to expel his energy in holding Yuuri, loving every second of the contact. His body acted as if it had been holding Yuuri his entire life, molding into Yuuri's side with perfection. He was only half listening to the woman at the podium, nose wrinkling when he heard his name. Confused, he glanced at Yuuri who dropped his hold. Whimpering, Victor moved back toward him, pouting when Yuuri guided him away.

"You need to go up there," Yuuri encouraged, smiling as he brushed Victor's bangs, "I promise not to disappear this time, ok?" He didn't know what made him say it. Phichit's words about Victor trying to find him had been rattling in his mind for hours and it seemed like the best reassurance he could provide Victor in that moment.

Grinning, Victor squeezed him. With a pat on Yuuri's back, which brushed questionably low, Victor sauntered to the front of the room, taking his position next to the sheet covered painting. Pulling it off with an air of showmanship, Victor gawked at his own naked form laid bare on the canvas for the whole room to see. The whole room of benefactors, and children with their families. Unable to control himself, Victor awkwardly fired off a finger gun toward his own image, winking out into the faceless crowd.

The bidding war began immediately, getting heated so quickly that a few of the service dogs had to be removed because it was making them nervous. A loud bid rang out above the crowd, Yuuri's head jerking around to see Phichit waving his hand above the other heads. He had no idea if Phichit actually possessed the amount promised in his bid, but Yuuri would definitely supplement what he didn't have. The gavel struck the podium, announcing Phichit as the winner who promptly yelled, "Yuuri! That's your very early birthday gift!" making everyone around them laugh. Phichit skipped to collect his prize, disappearing back into the crowd.

Victor returned to his side, eyes wet with laughing tears as Yuuri's name was called. Dread filtered into Yuuri's stomach as the pink rose on Victor's cheeks. "How bad is it?" Yuuri whispered, all hope had left him that the canvas would reveal a picture of Phichit and not himself.

"Let's just say if we ever move in together, we'll have a comparable set of portraits," Victor blushed harder when Yuuri faltered to stare at him.

Hearing his name called again, breaking through the delightfully domestic imagery that had settled in his mind, Yuuri moved blindly toward the sheet. Victor's statement had been so casual, Yuuri had almost believed he was serious, shoving the possibility as far away from his mind as possible. It was one thing to acknowledge that the Victor Nikiforov was flirting with him. It was a second thing to realize that Victor's intentions might actually be based on real attraction. It was a hundredth thing, a thing so far down the list it was comical, to believe that Victor would seriously consider a relationship between them advancing to cohabitation. Ears ringing, he failed to pay attention to the reveal of the portrait, only returning to reality as the laughter vibrated around him. Fearfully glancing to his right, Yuuri smacked a hand to his forehead, the other wrapping around his tummy as he burst out laughing. His list of reasons to hide the body of his best friend had increased by one as his half-naked, drunken image winked at him from the painting.

"Two thousand dollars!" a voice rang through the crowd, causing everyone to freeze. Victor lifted a playful hand into a one-sided shrug. "To me it is priceless, but you needed a price so there it is." The shock auctioneer slammed the gavel down, waving a hand to declare Victor the winner.

Painting in hand, Yuuri carried it back to Victor, presenting it to him as he flushed strawberry red. "Two thousand dollars? Really?"

Victor took his prize in his hands, ticking off the number of wonky lines and questionable anatomy choices, and wrapped an arm back around Yuuri. "It was worth it to keep you all to myself."

"You mean the painting?" Yuuri quipped, letting his arm snake back around Victor's waist, not even questioning why it was so easy to cuddle a man he had spent a lifetime worshipping and a mere five hours flirting with. "I would be far more expensive to acquire." Realizing that his joke hadn't gone as planned, Yuuri buried his head into Victor's shoulder.

"Priceless, really," Victor mumbled, nuzzling his face into Yuuri's hair, feeling absolutely elated at the day's events. He had wanted nothing but to hold this man for weeks now, and here Yuuri was, tucked into his side as if it had always been that way. "Yuuri, there was something that you asked me, that night in Sochi," Victor waited until Yuuri lifted his head to continue, "I was wondering if you were serious." His voice trailed off, uncertainty leaking in at Yuuri's confused expression.

Swallowing, Yuuri decided that the truth was better than anything else. "Phichit showed me the pictures, and from them I can recall bits and pieces, but most of that night," Yuuri winced with what he was about to admit, "I can't remember at all."

Brows slamming together, Victor studied Yuuri's face to make sure he was serious. "You don't remember dance battling Yuri Plisetsky?" Yuuri shook his head. "Pole dancing with Chris?" Another head shake. "Sweeping me off my feet and making me fall in love with you?" Yuuri choked. Music began to play as the last painting was purchased, couples already filing onto the dance floor. With a smile Victor handed his painting off to Chris who let out a low whistle as he examined it. Offering a hand, Victor spun Yuuri into his arms when it was accepted. "How about I spend the rest of the night reminding you, hm? Then we can talk about me being your coach next season."

Despite his confusion, Yuuri accepted Victor's offer letting himself get swept onto the dance floor while his imagination played with the idea of Victor as his coach. Fake injury or not, Yuuri decided that he was going to let Phichit live and probably needed to treat him to a very big thank you meal. Glancing over his shoulder, Yuuri saw Phichit and Chris taking pictures of their paintings, deciding to hold off on letting his best friend off the hook until he saw the hashtags undoubtedly joining those pictures on social media. Shaking his head, Yuuri refocused on Victor, changing his hold so that he could take over the lead. No matter what happened in the future, Yuuri was determined to remember their night together this time.

And Victor's heart… it was no longer dying. His heart was blooming, filled for the first time with the real possibility of hope, love, laughter, and happiness.


End file.
